


There’s A Hole Where Something Was

by bidennisreynolds



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Borderline Personality Disorder, Character Study, Choking, Dissociation, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced CSA, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Medication, Multi, Songfic, barely there aftercare, will add more as this continues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2019-10-17 07:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17556281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bidennisreynolds/pseuds/bidennisreynolds
Summary: A Dennis Reynolds character study to the tune of Folie À Deux by Fall Out Boy.An insight into Dennis’ relationships with the gang, his trauma, his mental health, the mother of his child and himself.





	1. Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for dissociation, minor mental health conversation and medication.

_Hey Doctor, I’m certifiable,  
I’m a loose bolt of a complete machine._

_That’s how you get diagnosed._

Dee’s voice echoed around Dennis’ head as he stared at the bottle of pills in his hand.

_Diagnosed._

Dennis could feel his grip on reality slipping just out of reach and, just like that, his body didn’t feel like his own. He saw himself put the bottle down and pick up his phone, but his hands were on auto-pilot. A few moments later he could see through his eyes again and was sat on the floor - unsure how he had got there - with his phone clutched to his face.

“What’s up, boner?” Dee’s voice sounded almost soft down the phone line and Dennis wasn’t exactly sure why (or how) he’d called her. It felt like his throat was clogged with tar when he opened his mouth to reply, but he managed to choke out a few words, even if the voice didn’t sound like his own.

“These meds. Do you think I should take them?” 

There was a pause, only a short one, and then, “What’s this about, Dennis, why are you calling me about this?” That definitely wasn’t the response Dennis had wanted or needed and now it wasn’t just words he was struggling to get past his lips, but air as well, dancing with the nausea at the pit of his stomach in a cruel back and forth.

“I’m scared, Dee,” He managed to whisper.

“Okay, okay,” Suddenly Dee’s voice was taking over the tiny bathroom Dennis had himself locked in. Dee had the ability to take up space like no other woman Dennis knew. Even from across the city and down a phone line, her energy was surrounding him, “I think you might have borderline personality disorder. I also think the fact that the shrink gave you meds after a fifteen minute session is a good indication that you need to be medicated. I also...”  
Dennis felt himself slipping out of existence again and just let his sisters words wash over him rather than try to understand them.

_Diagnosed._

The word tasted bitter in his mouth when he said it, quiet enough not to break Dee’s flow, but loud enough to strike a nerve deep in Dennis’ psyche.

_Diagnosed._

As Dee continued to talk (“...if anyone should be medicated it should be Charlie, but...”) Dennis moves to stand. His legs felt shaky underneath him, which he resents, but doesn’t have the energy to build up an anger about right now.

“Dee,” He says quietly, which doesn’t shut her up, “Deandra!”

_Diagnosed._

“I think I’m going to start taking them.”


	2. I Don’t Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets introspective during a late night, back office hookup with Dennis, after Dennis calls him a different name one too many times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie’s perspective, definitely sexual, kind of sad, mentions of macdennis

_Say my name and his in the same breath /  
I dare you to say they taste the same _

In the back room of an unsuccessful bar in Philly, gasps echo against the walls like the sounds of a choir in a church. There is something almost biblical about the way that Charlie and Dennis fuck; the heat between them, the anger pushing their bodies together, the pressing down on skin so hard that bruises bloom before the pair are done. Charlie has Dennis pinned against the desk, holding his hips down with his own, one hand clawing down his back, fiction relieved only by the thin film of sweat coating Dennis’ skin. He’s whispering expletives against Dennis’ neck between kisses, rutting against the thigh that Dennis has slid in between his legs.

That is until another name falls from Dennis’ lips like a prayer, as it is prone to do in these encounters, and Charlie moves away in an instant. Dennis’ eyes flutter open, gaze confused for a second and then, a tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip and a blush colouring his cheeks.

“Wait, please,” Dennis whines in the back of his throat and the sound drives Charlie to lean back in and nip at the taller mans collarbone for a second, nerves making his hands shake as they hesitantly come to rest on Dennis’ shoulders. Charlie then can’t tell if it’s his own hands or Dennis’ frame that is quaking. 

“You gotta stop saying his name, dude,” It comes out broken, his voice breaking on the last word, and if Dennis was a better man he’d feel guilty, but right now he just wants. Charlie feels the heat of his eyes burning holes into his skull so he looks down instead, lest he gloss over Dennis’ slip up and attempt to pretend he hadn’t heard it, like he’d done the last time.

“Charlie, I didn’t mean t- _Oh_ ,” Dennis’ pleas get cut off by Charlie’s hand around his neck, squeezing the air and the words out of him. It’s an impulse decision on Charlie’s part, but the sound Dennis makes low in his throat lets Charlie know it was the right one.

“Just shut the fuck up,” Charlie whispers against Dennis’ ear, nipping at the skin as he slides his other hand down to undo Dennis’ belt. He shifts and pulls Dennis’ jeans down a touch, “You can’t beg for Mac when you can’t breathe, can you?”

It’s standard, really, for Dennis to choke on Mac’s name between moans coaxed out of him by Charlie’s hands. Charlie knows why. He may not know how taxes work, or which kind of glue gets you high, or how to read, but he knows Mac and Dennis well enough to know why. Of course he knows why. He’s known why since the very first time it happened, in the back of Dennis’ car on prom night after Mac and Dennis’ date had mysteriously disappeared; after Dennis had pushed him against the door of his car and kissed him to keep from bursting into tears.

Charlie doesn’t know why he’s upset that he can hardly tell anymore if Dennis is seconds away from crying or screaming when he kisses him nowadays. And it is always Dennis who kisses him first. Charlie never tries to instigate these events. He wouldn’t dare.

He finally lets go of Dennis’ throat, hears Dennis gasp and splutter and takes a step back. Dennis’ pupils are blown wide, his eyes hungry and his jaw slack. Spit falls from the corner of his mouth to his chin and there are bruises already blooming on his neck. Charlie swallows the smile forming at the sight, in favour of shuffling a couple of steps away again. Dennis truly looks wrecked.

“Charlie,” Dennis almost sounds as wrecked as he looks, and Charlie hates the fact he can feel his heart skip at the sound of his own name. He watches as Dennis brings a hand up to ghost over where Charlie’s just was, pressing down for a moment and wincing. Mac wouldn’t be able to paint his body black and blue the way Charlie does but, God, does Dennis wish he would.

He stays exactly where he is, hands now resting against the desk behind him, jeans still part of the way down his thighs. If Charlie didn’t know any better, he’d think that Dennis was afraid of him. He does know better though, and knows Dennis well enough to know that if Dennis wanted to move, he would. If Charlie had learnt one thing throughout his dozens of casual hookups with his friend over the years, it was that Dennis loved giving up control in bed almost as much as he loved fighting for it everywhere else.

“One of these days I’m just going to get tired of it, you know?” Charlie’s just amusing a thought he has out loud, but it sparks a narrowing of Dennis’ eyes. 

“You haven’t yet,” Dennis replies, lightening quick. A challenge. If Charlie were to walk out of the office right now, it would be winning, finally beating him.

But Charlie sees the way that Dennis is gripping the desk as the words leave his mouth; the way his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip again - a nervous tic; the way his eyes plead with him not to. So Charlie knows he can’t walk away. No one can, really. Not from Dennis. Charlie isn’t sure if it’s the same for everyone, but in his experience, no matter how bad the stick was, the carrot was always worth it.

Charlie takes a few steps forward and presses his lips to Dennis’ again, letting the gasp of relief it elicits wash over him. Dennis’ hands clutch his shirt, an indication to Charlie that this was probably a sad hookup over an angry one. Most of the time Charlie can’t tell - Dennis’ actions rarely change from one mood to the next - but sometimes? Sometimes the mask slips and it’s almost as if they’re in their early twenties again. Before Dennis stopped feeling; before his go to emotional response was screaming; before he frequently referred to himself as a God.

Before he first hooked up with Mac.

Charlie doesn’t like to think about it. About that year or so when Dennis had rarely given him a second glance, and only had eyes (and hands and lips) for Mac. When Dennis’ smile had shone a thousand times brighter than it did now and when it was real.

Charlie is so caught up in his own thoughts he almost doesn’t realise when Dennis attempts to spin them around, stumbling to fall back onto the desk. Dennis drops to his knees in front of him - if you could call the graceful, practiced dip to the ground ‘dropping’ - the unspoken apology.

“Dennis, you don’t have t-“

“I want to,” Charlie has never understood why. To him, giving head is almost a chore, but Dennis revels in it. Would beg for it, on occasion. Charlie has occasionally wondered if Dennis whines Mac’s name on purpose sometimes, when he knows Charlie’s on edge, just so that Charlie would force his head down and fuck his mouth as punishment. He watches Dennis pull his jeans down, then lean in to mouth over his boxers, breath hot, sending shivers down his spine. Dennis sees sex as an art form, a performance piece, and Charlie supposes that was part of the reason sex is always pleasant with Dennis. Whenever Dennis is putting on a show, someone is always entertained.

Dennis now has Charlie’s boxers pulled down, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other on his own. His head falls back, eyes fluttering closed and mouth falling open for a second, letting out a breathy moan before moving back in and wrapping his lips around the head of Charlie’s cock. He opens his eyes and looks up at Charlie through his lashes, practically asking for Charlie to respond - seeking approval - humming low in his throat and moving to take him in deeper.

And respond Charlie does, grabbing a fistful of Dennis’ hair and pulling him closer, coaxing a groan out of Dennis. Charlie can see tears forming in Dennis’ eyes at the strain of something hitting the back of his throat and he lets up just a touch, letting Dennis ease back for a moment before pushing back into his mouth again.

The next few minutes are relentless; Charlie fucking into Dennis’ mouth until Dennis’ hand comes to rest on Charlie’s hip; a request to slow down. Charlie let’s his hair go immediately and Dennis pulls off, gasping for air. The two have been fucking for so long that they understand each other; moving together almost as one; picking up subtle changes in body language and knowing when to back off. Charlie doesn’t like to admit it comes from a shared kind of trauma.

Charlie passes a thumb over Dennis’ bottom lip, and Dennis looks away for the first time, blush flooding his cheeks. Intimacy terrifies him. Charlie drops his hand and Dennis takes that as a sign to take back control, leaning back in, licking a stripe down Charlie’s length, then back up to take Charlie into his mouth again.

It takes mere moments of bobbing his head for Dennis to make Charlie come, hand reaching up again to tug on Dennis’ curls. Dennis leans back after he’s finished and strokes himself to completion seconds later as Charlie attempts to catch his breath. On occasion, Dennis would rush through his orgasm before Charlie had even had a chance to touch him. In these situations, the afterglow could go one of two ways: Dennis rushing to get dressed, give Charlie an awkward nod of the head and rush out of the room, or - more rarely - he’d do what he was currently doing.

Dennis takes his time buckling his belt and looks up at Charlie, tongue passing over his bottom lip for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Charlie finds himself reaching down to wipe away the mess left on Dennis’ chin, then pressing his thumb past Dennis’ lips for him to lick clean. The moan that vibrates through Charlie’s hand assures him that this is what Dennis needs, and he lets the kneeling man suck on his thumb for a second before pulling the digit away with a pop. Charlie then kneels down on the floor opposite, passing a hand gently through Dennis’ hair. Dennis isn’t exactly the type to ask for hugs and kisses and soft touches but - ever the drama queen - he’d perfected his needy, sulking performance to the point where Charlie knows when a little more is needed.

“Charlie?” Charlie hums in response, and then Dennis says something he never thought he would say.

“I’m sorry about the name thing,” Charlie’s thoughts stop. They don’t talk about this, they never talk about this. A hurried ‘I didn’t mean it’ or ‘Charlie, please, c’mon’ is the most Charlie has ever got out of Dennis on the subject. Never an apology. Dennis didn’t _do that._

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlie hears himself say, and goes back to stroking Dennis’ hair. An apology doesn’t really mean anything, he’s sure of it. It’ll happen again. It always does. Charlie tries to ignore how his brain is getting caught up on the six words and attempts to drown it all out by humming Dayman. Attempting to find just a moment of peace, hand in Dennis’ hair, eyes falling shut, all right in the middle of the chaos.

_The best of us can find happiness in misery_


	3. She’s My Winona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night in the suburbs Dennis crawls into bed with Mac.

_Hell or glory,_  
_I don’t want anything between,_  
_Then came a baby boy with long eyelashes._

Dennis was awake. He was awake and he was in bed and it was three in the morning and he could still hear the pool filter and that _god_ awful beeping sound.

He felt a deep urge to scream; he wanted to fling his body from the bed and throw himself at a wall. He could tell he needed talking down, that much was obvious, but this was the suburbs. Charlie wasn’t around and he wasn’t very well going to ask Mac to chat. When he got like this, just the thought of hearing Mac ramble and panic and try to fix things made him want to claw his own ears off.

Dennis tries to breathe through it. He tries picturing Charlie wrapping his arms around him and humming lullabies into his ear, or Dee’s nails scratching softly at his hair while she complains about her day.

Dennis decides that when they finally move out of this godforsaken house, he’s going to spend more time with his sister.

If they were still in the city, Dennis might feel an urge to climb into Mac’s bed, gently shake him awake and let Mac’s arms surround him, let Mac press soft kisses against his cheek and down his neck, let Mac murmur about how perfect Dennis was. Not that he’d act on it. _That_ hadn’t happened in a long time.

Being in the suburbs, with Mac (and _only_ Mac) had made Dennis both want that with every fibre of his being and also not want to spend another second with Mac as long as he lived.

The way things were going right now? By the end of the month, Dennis was sure they’d either be fucking or killing each other. The suburbs could truly turn a man insane.

Dennis lies awake for another half an hour and then pulls himself out of bed. Picks up his phone. Almost calls Charlie. Doesn’t. Almost calls Dee. Almost throws his phone at the wall.

He puts it down and wraps himself in his dressing gown. The clock at his bedside is screaming that it’s 3:42 am.

Dennis finds himself tiptoeing across the hall and easing Mac’s door open inch by inch, as not to wake him. He edges into the room and Mac’s still asleep. He’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

He thinks about leaving. He knows he shouldn’t be here, it was creepy and wrong and it had been _years_ since he’d last crept into Mac’s room and woken him up by sliding underneath the covers next to him, silently wrapping himself up in Mac’s arms. Hell, him and Charlie has hooked up a _dozen_ times since his last night with Mac.

“Mac?” Dennis hears himself say, breaking the spell of the night and there was that god awful beeping sound again.

“Den?” Mac murmurs, sleepily pushing himself up into a seated position. Dennis could almost hear his heart breaking at the name, and he wraps his arms around himself, not trusting his own voice.

_Get out of here._

He could feel that itching under his skin, screaming at him to run. He didn’t want Mac to talk. He couldn’t have Mac talking, not tonight. The want in his chest was fighting logic and neither were really winning out. But he was here and Mac was awake now. And he was so tired.

Dennis makes his way over to the side of the bed and tilts his head to the side. Mac opens his mouth to speak but Dennis shakes his head. It closes. Dennis feels his consciousness shooting back to 2009 again for a second from the familiarity of the look in Mac’s eyes and he may throw up from the nerves burning under his skin.

Mac wordlessly lifts the covers and Dennis climbs into the bed, sighing as the warmth envelopes his body, followed by Mac’s arms.

“Is this-?”

“Yes.”

They lay like that for a moment, limbs stiff, both barely breathing until Dennis shifts closer, placing a hand over Mac’s where its hesitantly resting on his waist, links their fingers and pull the arm snuggly around him. Mac relaxes at the move, nuzzling his nose into the back of Dennis’ neck, breath fanning across his skin as if that was the only permission he needed to slip into an ancient routine. Dennis can feel his heart in his throat.

_Leave. Get out. Run._

Why did things with Mac always have to mean something? Why did he have to face his emotions when it came to Ronald fucking McDonald.

“Just tonight,” Dennis hears his voice saying, which makes Mac tense against him for a second, so minute a motion Dennis is almost sure he imagined it.

“Of course, dude,” A whisper replies against his ear, and then Mac’s asleep, snoring gently, chest rising up and down against Dennis’ back.

Dennis is sure the sound is going to irritate him but it’s so warm, and he can’t hear the pool filter anymore and within minutes he’s slipping into a blissful sleep.

He wakes up before Mac the next morning, yanking the covers off and rushing from the room before Mac can get a word out. He knows it’s dear that fuels it. He doesn’t want to admit what it is he’s afraid of.

_Never the same person when I go to sleep  
As when I wake up. _


	4. America’s Suitehearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis gets reflective during his time working for Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This has mentions of Dennis’ CSA, his prostitution in s3 and it’s also in second person

_Let's hear it for America's suitehearts._

Skin crawling.  
Head pounding.

_“Frank, I think I’m going to be-“_

Vomit falling from your mouth onto the street outside yet another lady’s house. What number was it now?  
Thirty?  
Fifty?  
You’ve lost track.

_“Stop being such a baby.”_

Baby.  
Baby.  
That’s what she’d called you. Seventeen years ago now. Fingers covering your mouth, nails digging into your arm, breath passing over your skin, making you heave.

Spit on the floor, straighten up and pull a out a compact mirror. At least, between the stress eating and the stress induced vomiting, you were still maintaining your shape.

_“Okay, give me a minute.”_

Compact.  
Powder.  
Blink.  
Smile.

You’ve got this.

_“Dennis, you’re losing money by the second here, I’m telling y-“_

Drown him out. Recite the alphabet backwards. Don’t think about how seeing the letters in your head remind you of the library.

_“Alright, alright, I’m ready.”_

_“About time.”_

An illusion, really, isn’t it? 

The door opens and a sweet looking lady smiles back. You remember why you keep doing this. The prologue.

Smiles.  
Hugs.  
Comfort.

When this had started, you’d found solace in the maternal warmth it had gifted you. That hadn’t brought up old memories.

You don’t think you have any to bring up.

Laughing.  
Forced.

This is fine. Glance at the clock. Watch her fingers move from your arm to your leg. Feel your stomach start to sink again.

Thirty seven. She’s number thirty seven.

_But I must confess,  
I'm in love with my own sins._


	5. Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis gets jealous and angry then horny and angry then sad and angry

_I don't just want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness._

Dennis stares at Mac over the rim of his beer bottle, seething. How dare he flirt so blatantly; so out in the open, in the bar for Christ’s sake, in front of everyone.

He’s flirting with a man, of course, but that was besides the point here. The point was Mac was being sloppy about it. Dennis didn’t resent the fact that Mac was laughing and joking with another man; accidentally-on-purpose touching another man; leaning in to whisper something in the ear of another man. Dennis didn’t care about that. No, he cared about the lack of finesse. The lack of poise, of grace, of...of-

The point was the bar was a public place and Mac really shouldn’t have his hand on another man’s thigh in the middle of the bar in the middle of the night in the middle of Dennis’ field of vision.

Dennis downs his beer and spins around on the stool, eyes instantly locking onto Charlie, emerging from the toilets, a dark substance staining his shirt and Dennis feels the building rage in his chest cease for a moment.

“Hey Charlie? I’ve got something to show you in the back office.”

~~~

Hot air puffs out from Charlie’s lips against Dennis’ neck as his thumb traces patters along the inside of his thighs, before those lips nip at skin and raise red marks as a reminder for later. 

Really, if he’s going to touch someone up in the bar, Mac should at least have the decency to do it in the privacy of the back office like Dennis did.

“We should be getting back soon,” Charlie whispers, but makes no effort to untangle himself from the mess of limbs and crumpled clothes that are him and Dennis, curled up in the office chair. Dennis silently thanks a God he doesn’t believe in that the room is so quiet; that he can’t hear the raucous laughter from the other side of the wall.

“Yeah,” Dennis replies in agreement, but grinds down against Charlie’s crotch, whining high in his throat at the lack of real friction against his own. He doesn’t mind all that much, the soft touches and fleeting kisses Charlie dots across his body are enough to keep his destructive thoughts at bay for now. Charlie leans back, watching the blush creep high on Dennis’ cheeks, thumb still stroking gently against his thigh. Dennis looks to the side. He detests the eye contact, and the fuzzy feeling that warms his chest. It reminds him of how much easier things would be if he really didn’t care about what Mac was doing on the other side of the wall. If he could just let all of that go.

“C’mon, otherwise Dee will barge in here looking for us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dennis sighs, climbing out of Charlie’s lap onto shaky legs, almost falling over in the process. He hears Charlie snicker behind him and feels once dormant rage bubble deep in his stomach. 

“What’s so funny?” A voice that doesn’t sound like his own says as he whips around to face Charlie, who flinches backwards and the anger is gone as quick as it came. It wasn’t replaced with guilt. It wasn’t.

“Nothing dude, jeez.”

The sorry gets caught in his throat. It always does.

~~~

_Tempest in a teacup,  
Get unique. _

~~~

“Dennis?” Dee practically squawks and Dennis blinks back into reality.

“What do you want?”

“You’ve been staring at nothing for like five minutes! I’ve said your name about 15 times, you gotta stay focused! This is important, what we’re doing here!” 

Dennis finally lets his eyes fall to the bar, where Dee is scribbling nonsensical diagrams onto a napkin.

“Now, this may be a rehash of a previous scheme but you weren’t here when we tried it the first time and so I really think we can... Oh, you’re not paying attention! You are just not paying attention.”

“Do you think I...?” Dennis catches himself before he finishes the sentence but Dee has already noticed his tone and puts her pen down.

“Think you what?” She’s using that tone of voice. The one that comes out less and less these days; the one that lets him know she’s concerned but isn’t demanding; the one that means she’s listening. The one that reminds Dennis that he truly and unconditionally loves his sister to pieces.

“Do you think I made a mistake? With North Dakota?”

“Coming back?” She asks and he sucks a breath of air deep into his lungs, fingers toying with a beer mat.

“No, going. What if I’d stayed here and-“

“Heyooo,” Mac’s voice comes booming through the room and Dennis drops the beer mat like it burns and stands up, turning to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t catch the look of recognition that falls over Dee’s features as he moves.

Or if he does, he just moves past it.

_It’s a sign: what if you peaked early?_


	6. The (Shipped) Gold Standard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis loves Mac, but he wouldn't dare say it.

_I want to scream 'I love you' from the top of my lungs._

"We should buy a bar."

Dennis has his head resting in Mac's lap, looking up in awe, as he is prone to do when he's drunk (and occasionally when he's sober, but he wouldn't ever say it). Mac looks down and when their eyes meet, Dennis feels his chest warm and doesn't call it love because he doesn't want to call it love. Even though he's pretty sure it is.

"A bar?" Dennis doesn't think Mac is aware that he's just started playing with his hair as he asks the question, but Dennis is hyper aware of the touch and lets his eye's close for a moment. He doesn't lean into it. Not yet.

"Yeah. You, me and Charlie. Dee could waitress, but she wouldn't buy in. We wouldn't have to pay her much. We could-" He feels Mac's hand move away and loses his train of thought for a second, tripping over his words, "It could be fun."

"Yeah," Mac looks away but starts playing with his hair again. This time he knows he'd doing it. Dennis can tell the difference in the pressure; less absentminded. This time maybe he does lean in, "It does sound like fun."

_But I'm afraid that someone else will hear me._

The room was spinning. Dennis could feel his stomach in his throat.

"No. No n-n-no no. Dude, you take the salt and then you take the shot," He weakly spat out onto the floor behind the bar. God, he was wasted, "And then you suck on the lime. Okay?"

He could hear Mac, confused at the process again and sighed, attempting to explain further. Mac was so stupid, it was ridiculous. He took another shot, bile rising so fast up his throat at the mere smell of the tequila that he gags, before knocking yet another glass back. The burn down his throat was familiar, comforting even, before he felt the liquid hit his stomach and yet another wave of nausea rise.

His eyes met Mac's and he was greeted with a smirk as Mac lent forward and-

I love you.

Fuck, fuck, did he just say that out loud? Surely not, if he had Mac would have said something and, and, and...

He was just going to rest his eyes. Just for a second. Just to get that drunken thought out of his head. He didn't love Mac. Stupid, sweet, soft, adorable Mac. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't.

He kept repeating it until he passed out against the bar, letting Mac's soft chuckles bleed into his ears and melt the tension he had caught in his shoulders.

_And all the calls started to roll in._

"Dennis, I, um, I was just calling to check in and see how you were doing? I guess? Um, I think the phone number you gave me is wrong or something because, uh, well you're not there. So, if you could, like, text or something? If you're still using this number, which, I guess you're probably not because you would call me back if you got my messages. Right? So yeah, that would be pretty sweet, dude. I don't know if you're mad at me for something I did before... Before you left but, you know, Charlie says I'm getting more better at being less annoying so, you know, you should come and visit. Dee is... She maybe sort of misses you a bit? Maybe we all do, kind of, um, but... Dennis, if you... Den, if you are getting my messages just let me know that you're okay... and things. Yeah? Okay, okay, bye."

Dennis let the words wash over him like they'd clear him of his sins.

Maybe they would. If he was lucky. If, by some miracle, he could get away with just listening to the messages left by Mac and Dee and occasionally by Charlie, and not have to think about _anything_.

About any of the mistakes he'd made, or the crimes he'd committed. Or the promises he had failed to keep.

The warmth in his chest he'd felt years ago had turned cold an awful long time ago. Or maybe it just burnt too hot for him to be able to tell the difference anymore.

_I know we're gonna leave this town._

"Love you," The murmured, half asleep voice of Mandy as she turned over to fall asleep shocked Dennis out of his memories.

"Yeah, yeah, love you too. Goodnight."

The words felt lukewarm on his tongue.

_And get get get get get out; get get get get get out now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes yes its been forever ive had a lot going on shoot me
> 
> also this chapter was just all round v difficult; i didnt know what lyrics to use as a prompt, my pacing was off, the older stuff read too soft and uhhh but i figured if i didnt post i would never post so hey!! enjoy


	7. (Coffee's for Closers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis can't talk about what happened with the librarian. Not when it happened, not over a decade later, not ever.

_I can't explain a thing_

Dennis sat in his bedroom staring at his sister blankly, words caught between his throat and his lips, waiting like a landslide on the precipice but dennis couldn't find the energy to let them tip forward and out.

Dee, for once, sat silently and Dennis wished she would break the silence that split the space between them.

"I had sex with the librarian," Are the words Dennis heard, and could only assume he had said. Dee continued to feed the hush.

"I wanted to," Dennis forced out, but wasn't quite sure if he believed it himself, "So, you know, it wasn't really-"

"Rape?" Dee offered up and Dennis now wished she'd never opened her mouth.

"No. No, it wasn't..."

_I want everything to change and stay the same_

"The school librarian? Like, at this school?"

Dennis nodded.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, he felt the tendrils of panic begin to creep forward, coaxing his muscles to pull together and tense, but he wasn't quite sure what he was getting ready to run from.

"Dennis-"

"Don't. No, Dee, I..." 

Dee crept slowly across the floor and took Dennis' hand with hers. Dennis watched her do it, wondering why he couldn't feel the warmth of her skin against his.

_Oh, time doesn't care  
About anyone or anything_

"You're just freaking out because you got raped by that librarian!" Dee shouted across the bar, but at least had the decency to look terrified as the words froze Dennis in place.

Dennis, who had been ranting about the fact that Dee and Mac had got him so drunk he had seemingly had sex with two men he didn't recognise. Dennis, who was stood behind the bar, beer in hand but brain a million miles away. Dennis, who was now being crowded by the gang, murmuring to each other in hushed tones that he couldn't understand a word of.

"Dennis..."

"I've got to go."

_Girls used to follow me around then I got cold_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN i know it's been months please i lost all my notes for this fic and by the time i plucked up the courage to start writing again i had a new idea for this chapter and it's just taken a lot out of me to finish it 
> 
> I know it's short but its.... u know how it is


	8. What a Catch, Donnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis being sad and lonely and drunk and sleepy at college.
> 
> (tw vague implications of past self harm)

_I've got troubled thoughts._

Dennis stumbled into his room with a laugh caught in his throat that dissolved into sobs. College was really _fucking_ difficult without Dee. The twin thing made being alone deafeningly quiet, and the quiet led to memories, which led to thoughts, which led to situations like this.

Situations where Dennis was sat on the floor against the door of his bedroom, half an empty bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Crying, of course, because what else was he meant to do on a Friday night?

He threw his head back and revelled in the pain that bloomed across his skull from the impact, holding his neck in place, despite his need for more. He just wanted to feel. Something. _Anything._

He could call Mac. Or Charlie. He couldn't call Dee, not yet. Well, he could. He just didn't want to. She'd left him, after all. By himself. Alone. She was his sister, for God's sakes, she knew he didn't do well by himself. She'd grown up with it; had stitched him up and put him back together again whenever the world had got too quiet and his brain had got too loud.

Like it was getting now.

_And a self esteem to match._

The cigarette in his hand had burnt down to the tip now scorching his fingers but Dennis had hardly noticed: cigarette burns barely registered to him any more.

He took another swig from the bottle. The burn of alcohol down his throat? Now that one still had some novelty to it. Warming him up from the inside out, so he didn't have to find the body of someone else to press up against and do it for him.

Alcohol couldn't reject you either.

Dennis hadn't quite realised just how much things like that hurt once he was no longer around two boys who hung off of his every word. Here, he had to fight to get someone to half listen to the spiel constantly falling from his mouth. Eventually, that kind of thing wormed it's way into his head and cut off the air at his throat.

What he had to say wasn't that important anyway.

Dennis blinked, vision hazy, and felt his consciousness begin to slip. That was a relief. The sleeping pills he'd stolen from his mother's purse the day she'd dropped him off this semester were running a lot lower than they had been this time last year. Dennis didn't think want to think about why that was. The first step to getting over a problem was admitting he had one, but that was also the first step to _getting_ a problem. If he didn't acknowledge it, what was there to get over? 

Okay, so that had sounded better when he hadn't tried to put it into words, but he was pretty sure there was some sound logic there.

"Den?" Dennis heard a rap at his door, but nothing else the voice said after that nickname made it to his head. He'd forgotten other people lived here for a second. Well, if you could call his frat brothers people. Bag of dicks might be more accurate. After a few seconds of silence, the voice sighed and Dennis heard footsteps echoing away from him. He was going to have to nip that one in the bud.

He couldn't have anyone _here_ calling him that.

Well, he could. He just didn't want to.

_What a catch. What a catch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u as always for reading :^)
> 
> My laptop deleted this as soon as I finished it so I had to speed write from memory


	9. 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis thinks about leaving North Dakota while high.
> 
> Mentions of drug usage.

_And I want it so bad, I'd shoot the sunshine into my veins  
I can't remember the good old days_

Crack was good.

Like, crack was so _fucking_ good.

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't be getting high in the back seat of the mother of his child's car at 2am on a Friday but, honestly, what else was Dennis supposed to do? Go to a bar? Pay for drinks? Talk to strangers? Why pay money for alcohol when you could pay money for crack goddamn cocaine?

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulled up his voicemail and held the phone tight against his ear. As if that would make the voice down the line sound any closer.

_Dennis, I, um, I was just calling to check in and see how you were doing? I guess? Um, I think the phone number you gave me is wrong or something because, uh, well you're not there. So, if you could, like, text or something? If you're still using this number, which, I guess you're probably not because you would call me back if you got my messages. Right?-_

He let the phone go, falling onto the carpeted floor. Car carpet. Car-pet. God, he was a genius. A golden genius. Jesus, how long had he been here?

Dennis let an arm fall, fumbling for the phone. Had he dropped it on the floor? How much crack had he smoked? His vision was hazy, but he couldn't tell if that was the smoke or just how high he was. Charlie would have said it was the smoke.

It was probably both.

_My mind is a safe, and if I keep it, then we all get rich_

What had he been doing? Right, the time. The time was 2:53am. Saturday. When had it become Saturday? Dennis supposed that it was probably already Saturday when he got into the car. He hung up his voicemail. Not that anyone called anymore.

The weeks after his departure had left his phone ringing off the hook. Messages left by Dee (drunk and sobbing or drunk and angry), Charlie (drunk and angry or high and angry) and very occasionally Frank (not angry or sad or... anything, really. Almost as if sometimes he'd forgotten Dennis had even gone).

And, of course, the ones from Mac. Always from Mac. Mac crying, Mac screaming, Mac starting off asking where Dennis was, if he was at the bar or the store or on his way home, then a pause and then silence.

The only ones he had saved were the ones like this. Where he was quiet and tentative and sad and worried and not sobbing or shouting or-

Was he sobbing? Or shouting? The crack sometimes made it hard to tell. Definitely the crack. Obviously it was the crack's fault.

Mac didn't call anymore. He hadn't for a while.

_The milligrams in my head burning tobacco in the wind_

Mandy was going to get so pissed off when she found out he'd been smoking crack in the car. Dennis lit a cigarette in an attempt to hide the smell. He let his wrist go limp to flick ash onto the floor. Well, the floor of the car.

Maybe she'd kick him out if she found it.

Maybe he'd go home then.

Where was home though, really? The bar? The apartment, with Mac? The gang? Charlie and Dee and Frank? All of their shenanigans? With the Waitress and Cricket and God knows who else. Everyone who had stuck around long enough to become a shell of the person they were 5, 10, 15 years ago.

_Are all the good times getting gone?  
They come and go and go and come and go_

Maybe... Maybe he should just up and leave. He might as well. The gang has apparently forgotten about him, he might as well go and impress them with his return. They'd appreciate that. He'd be doing something nice for them. A year of him leaving anniversary present.

He'd already proven he could leave now. See? He wasn't co-dependent. He could leave whenever he wanted to. So, you know, if he did go back...

Just for a little while.

Just to visit.

For the gang's sake. Obviously. They must have stopped calling because they missed him so much. Bunch of idiots.

He could always leave again. Get up and run. Again. He'd done it now. He could definitely leave again if he wanted to.

He could.

 

_If home is where the heart is  
Then we're all just fucked_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I. .. didn't know what to do with it lol, but i love writing dennis head stuff. But!!! next chapter is j gunna be pure charden fucking, no regrets.
> 
> Also dee day was a shitshow to watch but super excited for chokes!


End file.
